


金銀 (Silver and Gold)

by lemoninagin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Fate & Destiny, First Time, Foster Care, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Kerberos Mission, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Kerberos Mission, S5 spoilers, following their relationship from pre garrison to season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 12:38:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: Five times Keith saved Shiro, and the one time he couldn’t.





	金銀 (Silver and Gold)

**Author's Note:**

> The more time goes on and Shiro doesn’t mention anything about his family, especially after this season and the fact no one but Keith saw him off when he went to Kerberos, the more I believe he doesn't have one. Except in Keith :)

The first time Keith saves Shiro, it’s not particularly dramatic.

And that’s what originally draws Shiro in, because Keith doesn’t have to do any grand gesture in order to get his attention.

Keith’s finishing his first year at the Garrison—he’s all calloused hands and bright-eyed these days, with broader shoulders and long, messy hair that hangs like tempting shadows into his face.

Still serious and broody, he’s traded in his delinquent teenage habits for a more disciplined approach, began to grow into his slightly awkward frame now that he has access to consistent meals. He’s filling in with wiry muscle everywhere, thickening previously scrawny arms and legs, with that two inch increase in height which he uses to taunt Shiro that he’s catching up to him.

That explosive temper, though—there was probably no remedying that, no matter how many demerits Keith collected, no matter how many hours he spent making up for it doing thousands of push-ups on the cold, hard ground.  

They’ve been friends for a while, having met in foster care some odd years ago, when Shiro was bordering on leaving it and Keith was about fourteen. They’d lost touch during periods in between, mostly because the system had holes so wide many kids could slip through them and no one would ever notice.

Keith just happened to be one of those kids. Dropped off the grid more times than most, his family history with mysterious beginnings something no one kept track of, which made him harder to identify. No relatives to speak of, not even distant ones, and it was like he just popped up on Earth one day as if he was some alien beamed down to live among them.

He was one of the only kids Shiro knew who had been traveling from home to home for longer than his memory really went back. After turning eighteen, Shiro remembers the frustrating hours spent trying to contact him, trying to get any reasonable person who could tell him where the hell a fiery teenager named Keith Kogane, with unruly black hair and about yea high, was shuffled off to now.

Despite his best efforts, it wasn’t until a few months after he turned twenty that he finally got that heart-wrenching call which patched them back into a connection. The relief Shiro had felt then, being able to hear Keith's voice and know that he was okay, was so great he was able to sleep well for the first time in years.

Initially, their friendship started with Shiro attempting to defend him, but he soon found out Keith was someone who never really needed that.

It’s now that he’s come to realize that he’s really the one who’s always needed defending.

And whenever he needs it most, Keith is there for him. There for the good times and bad, the times in between where nothing much happened, but it felt like a lot when he got to spend time with Keith.

Keith was there as nothing more than a waifish, angular teenager when they first met, lips pursed all too seriously as he watched from a corner, book in hand, when their caretaker introduced Shiro to the group of strangers he would be living with now.

He’d peeked his nose up over the pages, introduced himself with little emotion as merely “Keith”, even though they were directed to reveal their full names.

When Shiro lingered by him after introductions, awkward and unsure where he should go or what he should do first, Keith put his book down. Observed him quietly, before tilting his head and pinching his brows together.

“Gold and silver,” he’d mumbled, then walked away, leaving Shiro there to blink, confused, to dwell on that for a long time.

                                                                                                 ***

Once Shiro spent hours trying to study for an exam, putting his all into the effort, only to fail it miserably. Keith had been nearby, lounging on the patchy, worn couch upside down, as he often skipped going to school. When Shiro came trudging despondently through the door, he didn’t think Keith would care to ask or notice at all, because no one ever really noticed him. But Keith dropped his book, began prying about what his problem was.

He told Shiro that he could see it in his eyes, sense in his posture, that something was off.

No one had said something like that to him in years, not since his parents had still been alive. So Shiro explained what was wrong, and against all his expectations, Keith told him much like his parents used to, that it would be okay. He’d righted himself to face him, saying that he probably did his best, so he could still do it again and succeed if he wanted to.

Still unsure about his abilities, Keith promised if Shiro passed his next test, he’d tell him a secret about himself that he never told anyone else. Shiro was intrigued—he felt himself drawn to Keith, despite them exchanging few words before this. He was by far the most interesting, most mysterious person there.

In order to find out more, Shiro worked harder than ever. And after Shiro did indeed bring back a better score the next time, Keith smiled cheekily at him.

“Kogane,” he’d revealed then, “It’s my last name.” In terrible handwriting, with all the wrong stroke orders, he’d written the barely legible kanji on his term paper. “Gold, right? And you’re silver.”

This time, his hand struggled harder, forcing two characters beside each other that phonetically sounded the same, but when placed together, held different meanings and were pronounced another way.

Shiro had laughed at the cute attempt, while Keith flushed in embarrassment, assuming he was being made fun of. He’d gotten all huffy, threatened to stomp off until Shiro put a hand on his shoulder and said, “It would have been cool to have them sync up like that, wouldn’t it? [1] But what you wrote would be read as ‘platinum’. Don’t be upset though, it’s a really good try and still technically right.”

Keith paused. His glare lightened, then fell away as Shiro continued to smile. “How do _you_ write it, then?” he’d asked, words coming out harsher than he probably meant.

Shiro wasn’t put off by it. Remaining at the kitchen table, he’d patted the chair beside him, remembering how his mother used to tell him that being friendly was the only way to fight prickliness. “Mine’s only one character now, they combined the two to create new meaning. Which means, the kanji from your name, grew to be a part of mine.”

He drew the strokes out onto his paper, next to Keith’s attempts. It came with a painful familiarity, an ache in his chest for home coming out as he wrought each line into existence for Keith to see. When it was only quiet, Shiro looked over, worried he may have offended Keith again.

But for the first time, Shiro saw Keith smile. A good smile, that didn’t thin out his lips like they usually were, and carved large dimples into his cheeks. It instantly lit up the dark room, with that small window in the corner that never allowed for much light and was glued closed by the thick summer humidity.

“That’s kinda cool, that I’m in your name,” he’d finally said, “How’d you do it so smooth like that?”

Shiro gripped his pencil tight, feeling like the room got about ten times stuffier, and offered as Keith sat back down, “Here, let me show you.”

                                                                                                 ***

During the nights spent in cold shivers, shaking sweats from past tattoos of terrors, Keith was there, assigned to the bunk bed above him. More than once he woke Shiro up, clambered down those creaky rungs with the middle plank missing in between, and hugged him in a silent show of solitude as Shiro clutched at the back of his nightshirt and quietly cried on his shoulder. He’d curl up with Shiro afterwards so he could go back to sleep, his small, bony body a surprising comfort as his chest rose and fell against Shiro’s back.

They never talked about it in the morning, but Keith would linger near him, all day long. Watching, careful, like a loyal dog who would be there for him the second things fell apart again.

                                                                                                  ***

As Shiro sent off college applications, he first opened up that one for the Galaxy Garrison out of false bravado, his real interest and true calling, only to close the thing and sigh about how that was pointless. Keith had been the one to tell him to go for it anyway, even though Shiro never thought he’d ever get in, considering his background.

Regardless of his insecurities, he listened to Keith. Something about how confidently he said it, about the way his bangs fell across his face as he encouraged him—his silhouetted smile sparking like a flame in the dark—made him feel like he could do anything.

                                                                                                  ***

When Shiro got that life-changing acceptance letter, Keith’s eyes were shining with something deep and unknown—a pride in Shiro, that made his heart seize up for the first time and his hands feel sweaty and gross on the paper as Keith told him with a smug smirk, “Told you you could do it.”

                                                                                                   ***

Keith was there, a small, shocked tinny voice on the other side of the phone, after Shiro searched for him for two years endlessly. His pitch grown lower, but so comforting and like the home Shiro never really had when he paused on the line and then said, “Takashi? Is that really you?”

“Yeah, it’s really me, Keith.”

There was silence for a while. So long, Shiro thought Keith might have hung up. Then—

“Prove it,” came his breathless voice, “Tell me something only the real Shiro would know.”

“Your last name is Kogane, but for some reason, you never tell anyone,” Shiro said softly, clutching the phone with excitedly shaking, sweaty hands. “Makes it a real bitch for people to find you, you know?”

“...No one’s ever wanted to find me before.” Another pause, and then finally, Shiro heard that familiar, bubbling laughter, followed by a breathy, pleased sigh. “I—I missed you, silver.”

For the first time in years, Shiro felt whole as he kissed the receiver and replied, “I missed you, too, gold.”

                                                                                                     ***

And of course, Keith practically jumped in his arms at their long awaited physical reunion, where they’d get to see each other every day again as Keith easily got his own acceptance letter not much later. There for the new late nights spent talking to each other about their dreams and catching up about stupid shit, there for the early mornings spent training hard together and running off nothing but pure adrenaline and coffee.

The best times of Shiro’s life, he can say with absolute conviction in his heart.

So when Shiro is up for promotion again—senior officer, a title he’s spent about as many countless hours of hard work on as Keith has push-ups—it comes as no surprise that Keith is there again.

They’re walking back from the cadet’s training room, because Shiro thinks it’s still nicer than the officer’s one. He’s in the middle of telling Keith that his dashing good looks are what keeps getting him approved in order to successfully sweet talk the security ladies to let him in to train with Keith there.

“You wish,” Keith snorts, shoving him playfully, “Like those old ladies would ever think they’d have a chance with you. Doubt that will be something you could put on your proposal for Kerberos, anyway—”

He gets cut off before he can tell finish that thought, as loud voices rise from two higher-ranking officers talking at the corner they’re approaching.

“Man, did you know?” Shiro can hear the one guy say, “They’re promoting Shirogane again soon. I heard he’s even being considered for the Kerberos mission.”

Keith immediately stops walking. Goes completely still, right in the middle of the hallway, so suddenly Shiro almost runs into him.

“Keith—”

Keith raises a finger to his lips, motioning that he wants to hear what these people have to say about him. Shiro sighs, prepares himself mentally, wondering if he managed to bring any first aid supplies with him this time.

“Damn shame,” the other officer sighs, running a hand through graying hair, his back to both of them, “Like that guy has ever had to work for anything a day in his life. There’s so many better pilots out there who deserve the proper recognition.”

Shiro can feel Keith tense at his side, can feel the heat begin to rise off him, dissipating into almost visible waves in the air.

“We spend years in rigorous training treading through promotions at a snail’s pace, and for what? For some baby faced kid to steal it, who just up and gets it all because he has the right look? Bet he has rich parents paying Iverson off, or something.”

The officer's friend spots them over his shoulder, must whisper something to him, because the officer abruptly turns. The instant he sees the excuse of the orange uniform Keith’s wearing, he barks to him, “The fuck are you looking at, cadet? Return to your barracks, curfew’s almost in effect.”

Keith straightens his back, salutes respectfully like he should. The officer takes one look at Shiro’s rank, at who he is, and nods in recognition—though his face pales, like he’s unsure if they might have heard that all or not. Shiro observes the scene warily, as does the other officer behind him, whose eyes stretch wide when he recognizes it’s Keith his friend has unfortunately addressed.

“I apologize for staring, Sir,” Keith says, keeping his eyes trained to the ground, “I was distracted because I was thinking that you shouldn’t be jealous of someone who’s better than you in every sense of the word, Sir, yes, Sir.”

A dark cloud washes over the officer’s face. “Drop and give me fifty, cadet, for insubordination,” he orders Keith, after a considerable pause.

Keith remains standing, salutes off, and shrugs. “Don’t feel like it.” He looks up at the officer, grimacing. “I’m not being insubordinate, I’m just telling the truth. Sir, no, Sir.”

The officer moves forward, getting into Keith’s personal space, and Shiro thinks, _oh, here we go_.

“Excuse me?” he says through clenched teeth, flecks of spit hitting Keith’s face.

Shiro can feel the tension growing more palpable, can see the flash of heat in Keith’s eyes as the guy glares down at him and hisses, “You’ll do it, because I’m _commanding_ you to, and that’s an order.”

Shiro steps farther back from them. This guy must be a real idiot, to not know about their budding star ace pilot, and his equally as widespread reputation for having an impulsive, unforgiving temper.

Shiro’s seen a situation like this enough times to know where this is probably going, especially as Keith shakes his head again, and says, “I don’t follow orders from assholes who assume they know everyone’s circumstances, Sir,” Keith leans in, biting in terse, single syllables, “No. _Sir_.”

It only takes a second for the tension to snap. The officer moves in, grabbing Keith's arm, muttering about his intentions to drag him back to Iverson’s office so he can be properly dealt with. Keith digs his heels into the floor, jerking out of his grip with a smooth disengagement by dropping all his weight down.

There's a small scuffle, the shortest one Shiro's probably ever seen, as the older officer is uncoordinated and slow. Though at one point he manages to backhand Keith—mostly accidentally—but it makes Shiro's blood rush hot and has him stepping forward to join the bray despite what that could do to his immaculate record.

He doesn't have to bother, naturally. If there's anything Keith can certainly hold his own against, it’s people trying to hurt him or Shiro.

Which is why the officer finds himself slammed against the wall, his friend looking helplessly on as Keith raises him easily by the throat.

“You think your tough shit?” Keith growls at him, hand visibly tightening around his windpipe, “That’s funny. I feel like it was just yesterday that I walked into Iverson’s office, and overheard you getting chewed out for rigging simulation scores.”

The officer rasps out gurgling, indecipherable words. His eyes are starting to bulge out of his head.

“Oh, wait. That _was_ yesterday, wasn’t it?” Keith continues, “And do you still not think you deserved to be stripped of your rank for that?”

“Keith, put him down!” Shiro attempts to plead with him. At this point, however, he knows Keith is too far gone in rage for words to reach him.

So he can only stand there and watch for a moment, as Keith slams the guy back again.

“No, of course not,” Keith answers for him, “because you’re the type that thinks you can just run around here, spouting bullshit about people you don’t even know, judging them when you have no idea what they’ve been through, or how hard they’ve worked—”

Shiro reaches out a hand, touching Keith’s shoulder gently, and the spell is broken. As usual, that’s all it takes. Keith drops the guy, arm going limp to his side. Breathing heavily through his nose and back out his mouth like Shiro taught him, as he turns to Shiro and tries to get a hold of himself.

As he does, the officers take off, the friend hurriedly saying that they don’t need to worry about them reporting this. Not like they’re much of a threat, anyway, when Shiro’s word will hold more weight in a conversation with the higher ups if need be.

Which he’s done before for Keith, and even though he knows he shouldn’t play favorites, he can’t help but feel it’s his duty to, as much as its Keith’s apparent duty to protect him—no matter how small the offense.

Keith settles into a deep glare, obviously embarrassed that he let himself lose control again as he looks away from Shiro, thinking that he’s probably going to be in for another one of his long-winded talks.

But Shiro doesn’t feel like chastising him. He knows how on edge Keith has been lately from the mere possibility of him being accepted for Kerberos, despite outwardly being as supportive and encouraging as he always is.

No, Shiro thinks, now is not the time.

So he shakes his head fondly, smiles, and says instead, “You’re bleeding,” as he raises his right hand and smudges the blood running over his lip with his thumb.

It’s the first time he's touched him there, and Shiro notices that his lips are soft, smoother than he's expected. His heart is pounding in his chest when Keith glances back up at him, surprised, cheeks flushing with sudden heat against his fingertips.

“Shut up,” Keith snaps, brushing his hand away. He reflects Shiro's smile as he lifts the back of his arm up to his face, a poor attempt at wiping the mess on his mouth with his sleeve.

Shiro resists the strange urge to lean in and clean the rest off with his own lips.

They walk the rest of the way in silence, back to Keith's quarters. It's past curfew now, so as long as he's assisted by an officer, no one will ask any questions.

When they make it, Keith hesitates at his door, as if he wants to say something but can't bring himself to push the words out. Which Shiro is used to, so he clears the air for him.

“Thanks, Keith,” he says, and Keith mumbles a quick, “Don't mention it. You’d have done the same for me.”

Shiro laughs at the endearing flush on his cheeks, at the way he abruptly turns around to hide it, punching in his key code to escape.

“Hey…” Shiro stops him with a hand brushing through the long hair at the nape of his neck. A tender gesture, that gets Keith pausing, probably wondering why.

“You gonna come to my rescue every time someone says something like that even after I’m light years away?”

Keith tilts his head, staring at his door. Then he says slowly, simply, “Yeah.”  

That’s when Shiro gets it. All the new long, lingering glances, the subtle brushing of their arms as they walk and Keith letting himself get pinned underneath him during training more and more often—

Shiro’s heart beats faster, stomach fluttering pleasantly as Keith turns to look at him over his shoulder. Smiling wide, a rare gem indeed.

“Yeah, I am.”

 

* * *

 

The second time Keith saves Shiro, it’s an almost improbable coincidence, and Shiro can barely process what he’s seeing after it happens.

He’s confused and dazed still from whatever alien sedatives he’s been pumped full of this time, eyes cracking against the glaring burn of the sun, which doesn’t make sense.

Because he’s been trapped in space for who knows how long, in the endless double night of a prison cell, so this has to be a hallucination.

Shiro lays there for a long time, quietly staring at the trickle of light filtering in through a small slant of dust particles. Waiting for the next Galra commander to take him back from the lab, unmoving and defeated, as it’s easier to accept that he’s finally having that nervous breakdown.

Then, “Hey,” says a familiar voice, small and cautious, but with that low pitch that reminds Shiro what it was like to really feel alive again.

“...Hey,” Shiro says back to the mirage that clicks into place above him, after a moment. Staring, disbelieving, at the angelic vision of Keith looking back at him. Somewhat puffy-eyed, with that half-smile exactly as he remembers it, hair glinting in a halo of the sun’s impossible reflection.

He’s finally done it, Shiro thinks. He’s finally been killed in a match, and made it to the afterlife.

And god, if it isn’t beautiful.

Raising an arm up slowly, he reaches for angel Keith’s chin, brushing his fingers along it in a gentle drag. It doesn’t feel real, but he notices that’s more because his hand is still metal, heavy and horrible and—

“Keith?” Shiro blinks again, elevating himself on his elbows, trying to push past the fog in his mind and the aching headache bursting across his temples. “Is this—”

“Yes,” Keith confirms, nodding, nudging slightly into his touch before Shiro quickly draws the cursed arm back. Keith lays a hand over it anyway, and even though Shiro can’t physically feel it, he knows it’s warm and soft.

“This is real.” Keith’s thumb smooths over the metal, not looking at it, but directly into his eyes. “You’re home. We don’t know where you were, but you’re safe now.”

“I, w-what, how, where?”

Shiro takes in his surroundings, furrowing his brow at what appears to be a small wooden shack with only one room, and when he looks down he’s lying on a lumpy futon, not a cloud. There’s a table next to him with cinder blocks keeping it up, books and papers scattered everywhere, makeshift curtains hanging over dingy windows. This definitely isn’t the Garrison, but fuck if he cares where they even are.

He’s home again. He’s safe.

Shiro looks back to Keith, at those dark eyes and even more unruly dark hair framing that shy hint of a smile he’s seen develop more beautifully over time, and he knows at the emotion he sees there that this isn’t just another nightmare taunting him. This is real, Keith saved him.

Keith is real.

As Shiro struggles to make sense of it all, those fingers trail up his arm, fingering the grooves of where his amputation begins. Keith’s staring at it now, the edges of his lips twitching into a frown when Shiro flinches, because he’s still waiting for that weapon or fist to come crashing into his face to destroy this happy illusion. After this long without it, Shiro discovers that a gentle touch now comes with anxiety, with overwhelming emotions that threaten to cave in on him all at once.

Sensing his uneasiness, Keith dances away from the sore spot, gliding in soft, soothing circles over his chest, palm turning down to feel his heart. Causing goosebumps to pebble over Shiro’s skin, as Keith seems to be trying to make sure he’s real as well.

“ _We_?” Shiro finally manages to ask, weakly.

Keith leans back, allowing him to see past his body, to where a pile of mostly strangers are lying in a heap on each other in the middle of the room. Three people, Garrison cadets, sleeping soundly. A larger guy that Shiro thinks might have been an engineer, with that skinny cargo pilot that Keith was always fighting with, wrapped in one of his arms. Curled up in the shelter of his other arm, is a very small person in a green shirt that Shiro’s never seen before, but seems vaguely familiar.

Keith shrugs, somewhat exasperatedly. “It’s a long story,” he mutters with a sheepish grin.

The relief hits Shiro all at once, that he’s a free man, that he’s made it in the horrifying aftermath in mostly one piece and—

Bonus points, he’s with Keith.

Shiro smiles, lip quivering. He gathers Keith in his arms, a hug that squeezes all the bad things out of him that have built up in all his time away, turning them into silent tears on his cheeks. Keith clutches at the back of the dirty tatters of his prisoner uniform, murmuring soft, broken sentences about how much he’s missed him, how he can’t believe he’s alive, can’t believe he’s real again, too.

And at Keith’s ear, Shiro whispers in a croaking voice back, “Think I’ve got time now, so tell it to me.”

 

* * *

 

The third time, isn’t a coincidence. It’s fate. It has to be.

Shiro feels the walls of his hideaway closing in on him the more the creature outside of it hisses, the closer it gets as it tries to crawl its way through.

He clutches faintly at the glowing wound on his side, feeling the adrenaline fighting with his body, only weakening it as the pain encompasses every part of him. And he thinks, well okay, this is it—this is where I’m going to die for real.

But Keith’s voice crackles in static over his comm, calling his name, telling him he’ll be there soon. Whispering to himself, when he thinks Shiro isn’t listening, that patience yields focus.

“That really stayed with you, didn’t it?” Shiro says, smiling, even though talking is making everything worse.

“You’ve given me some good advice,” Keith’s voice filters in, “If it wasn’t for you, my life would have been a lot different.”

It seems such a curious thing to say, when if it weren’t for Keith, Shiro could surely claim the same. But it’s there in that crumbling shelter, through the muddled daze of pain and his mind phasing in and out on the verge of death, Shiro comes to a revelation of sorts. A revelation, that he’s as important to Keith, as Keith is to him, somehow.

That without him in the picture, maybe Keith is right. Because who would have been there for him, befriending him when none of the other foster kids seemed to ever want to? Who would have been there for him, spending all that time searching for a one in a million chance to get back in touch with an orphan with no last name who nobody cared enough about to even keep records on, half the time?

Who would Keith be now, he wonders, if it weren’t for at least one person in his life showing him that he was wanted, that he was needed? Would they still even be here today, fighting evil together side-by-side in a universe that so far has only shown how unkind life can be?

And yet, how kind has it been to show them that they have each other, no matter what. That no matter what danger Shiro is in, whether big or small, Keith will always be this guardian angel watching out for him. Fierce, loyal, no matter what lengths he has to go to. An unconventional guardian angel, with sharp edges that are capable of being just as dangerous as the blade he always carries, but never once has he been anything but soft and gentle towards him.

The ground is rushing up to him, fast. He’s growing woozy, and there’s a lot of blood when he lifts up his palm, staring at the way the wetness from his eyes disperses it when a drop falls down. There’s no fear in him anymore when he sees the creatures are getting closer, are closing in around him.

He’s thinking nonsense, about Keith’s face that first time he saw it, as a sad and alone fourteen year old boy that nobody loved. He’s thinking of how much he doesn’t want to die now. He’s thinking of how much he needs to keep fighting until Keith gets here, so that if he does die, at least he'll get the peace of seeing Keith one last time.

Shiro knows in his heart, that Keith would want the same. So he pushes on, and he fights with the last of his strength, and right before he thinks it's all over and his knees are giving out in panic—

Keith is there. Black is there, a menacing, protective shadow over him.

They make it back to the ship, somehow, even though Shiro's mind feels faint around the edges, and at the campfire he was hallucinating Keith in his Garrison uniform. With the buttons undone, white shirt underneath exposed and sleeves rolled up, how he liked to wear it on warm days where they spent their lunches on the roof and Shiro would watch the wind play with his hair.

When Shiro gets out of the healing pod, Keith is there again, with a shoulder to support him and lips that take his breath away in a bruising kiss.

Their first one.

“Silver and gold,” Keith breathes in his ear afterwards, laughing softly, hands creeping on his hips as Shiro touches his lips in awe.

“...silver and gold,” Shiro murmurs back, returning his smile with another kiss.

Shiro swears, when he touches Keith's lips, he feels the war ending. Swears he feels the comfort of home, of bringing Keith back to Earth to start their life anew together, like they've always wanted.

Instead, he's told to shovel down food goo, and then Keith is leading him off to the showers to get cleaned up.

His legs are sort of wobbly still, like a newborn fawn’s, so Keith has him sit and helps him strip his suit off. There isn't anything suggestive about it as there is melancholy, Keith’s fingers occasionally trailing over a scar, softly pressing his lips against the larger ones. Shiro lets himself sink into his attention, warmth tingling on his skin everywhere Keith touches, eyes glued to the mesmerizing echo of blue light reflecting on Keith's hair.

Then Keith stands up, pausing for a moment before huffing a long breath through his nose. Shiro watches carefully as he turns around and begins to take his own clothes off.

Layer by layer, slowly, exposing the flex of lean back muscles, a thin torso, thick thighs and a full back side leading to sculpted legs. Keith's tensed back relaxes as he pushes the breath he'd been holding out.

It’s right about that time that Shiro closes his eyes and drops his head, flushing, because he hasn't seen him like that this up close since they were at the Garrison. Which was different, then. Their unspoken attraction was best left to lingering glances from the corners of their eyes at that time, best left to joking words as they stood in the locker room feeling that unresolved tension after every training session.

Somehow, Shiro doesn’t think he’s getting away with that here. Doesn’t think he really wants it to be like that, anymore.

He feels a warm hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently, another, tipping his chin back up. “Look at me, Takashi,” the words ghost over his lips, lingering with tantalizing heat, and—

And how could he not?

Not when the sight Shiro sees as he opens them has desire churning hot in his stomach, a feeling so foreign after all this time suppressing himself, after being too numb to care or getting caught in the tides of everything that's always happening.

In a way, he's been scared of this. Been scared to even touch himself, to let himself feel pleasure again when every time he tries, those frightening pictures of the past light up vividly against his closed eyelids.

He’s wanted this—he knows Keith has wanted this—from as far back as the Garrison, maybe longer. There's just been no time to appreciate Keith like he deserves, no time for confessions or for soft caresses of exploration.   

But here, they have time. There's no fear here for Shiro when he sees the shy way Keith glances away, but how he stands tall and proud like he always does, baring himself for Shiro against the cool air.

They may never get this chance again, he thinks. He’s spent so many years watching Keith, admiring him from that corner of his eye.

Now, Shiro isn't satisfied with just looking anymore.

Sudden energy, real feeling, surges back in his veins. He reaches a hand out—the one still human—and stretches it up to feel Keith's rapidly beating heart. Keith doesn’t make him feel caged in, doesn’t make any movements that could be considered sudden. He simply stands there and watches his reactions intently, arms limp, rubbing one thumb and index finger together, a nervous tic he’s had since forever.

Sliding his palm curiously towards his navel, Shiro can't help it as his metal fingers twitch, too, like they understand what it's like to be real. Like they've been there long enough now that they’ve learned that they're supposed to love Keith, begging him that they’ll behave so long as he finally allows them to touch.

Cautiously, Shiro moves them, sinks them one-by-one into the flesh of Keith's hip and tugs him closer. He lets both hands fall to his backside, cupping it gently. A soft groan pushes up Keith's throat when Shiro leans forward, seals his mouth over his belly button while staring up at him through his lashes.

“You’re beautiful,” Shiro breathes on his skin, and he’s never meant anything more in his life.

Keith stares back, a wild heat flashing in his eyes. His fingers twitch together one last time, and then stop. “Do whatever you want,” he tells him, quietly.

Without thinking anything else, Shiro rises, working their lips passionately as he laces their fingers together—metal between flesh, silver between gold. He tracks a wet path down Keith’s neck, fluttering more kisses and small bites over the curve of it, across his collarbone and chest, marking him inch-by-inch.

With every taste of Keith’s skin, Shiro feels that current of electricity, feels alive again. When Shiro touches Keith, he finds that all of those bad, scary images fall away. When he touches Keith, he's only thinking of Keith.

As his mouth latches around a nipple, pebbling it with his tongue, Keith's lashes flutter low. He gasps, snapping his head back as his hands steady themselves—one squeezing his own, the other tangling into the tuft of his hair—and that's when Shiro loses it.

He immediately backs Keith into a shower stall, lets the hot water rain over them as he learns about all the places Keith is sensitive.

For the first time, he sees the way Keith breaks and moans for him, how he shudders in his grip and rolls his hips. For the first time, he hears all the new noises he’s capable of making, the unguarded expressions he has no issues allowing Shiro to see.

Shiro memorizes all he can, as there are no promises in this life that will even guarantee a second time for them. He memorizes the deep flush that fills Keith’s cheeks gradually as his fingers explore further down his body, memorizes the seemingly insignificant placement of a small, purplish birthmark right above the coarse hair covering his groin, tracing the outline, before wrapping a hand around his swelling cock.

Shiro discovers that when he skims his fingers over his skin more lightly, Keith giggles, in a way he’s never really heard before. Discovers that he gets the cutest, most impatient pout on his face when he begs Shiro, “Please, right there, faster, come on.” How when he comes, he gives this shaky, breathy little whine, bites his lip, and looks directly in his eyes.

Looks directly in his eyes, and says, “I love you,” with his nails scraping against his back.

Shiro doesn't need to be touched. Seeing that, hearing that, is all he needs to push him over the edge.

After his orgasm washes over him, Keith trembles in Shiro's arms as they fold around him, and pull him in tight. The emotional lag catches up with them, and it isn’t long before wracking sobs heave from Keith’s chest, tears spilling down angrily over his cheeks, leaving residual paths of red as the pretty flush drains from his face. Shiro clasps his metal fingers into his weighed down hair, stringing his fingers through as he tucks Keith’s head into the shelter of his chest and whispers that it's going to be okay. That he’s here now, that he’s not going anywhere again.

That he’s alive and they made it back together, just like they always do.

As much as Shiro wants to believe those words himself, wants to be happy that he's gotten to finally see Keith like this, he can't. He can't keep the worries, the anxieties and memories from returning once more and ruining this moment, and he hates that. Hates that more than anything, so maybe if some of the liquid on his cheeks isn't shower water, either, then so be it.

It doesn't matter.

Shiro holds Keith close, says, “I love you, too, baby,” and he makes every damn kiss count.

 

* * *

 

By the fourth time, Shiro isn’t even surprised anymore.

He’d still prepared for death, but there was this small ray of hope, keeping him alive for much longer than was probably possible. And right as he was losing it, right as he faced the grim reality, took in what he thought would be his last breath and flipped through his memories conjuring Keith’s face—  

There he is.

All the oxygen he has left to say, when Keith races to open the hatch of the pod and helps pull him out, is, “Gold?”

Before the blackness takes him, he feels a hand stroking his long hair, hears a laughing voice confirm, “Silver.”  

Things are different when he opens his eyes again. Keith is there, of course. He’s there after he’s apparently had such a long time in the healing pod, that when he came out he was still unconscious for awhile. Keith helped move him to his room, insisting to the others that he be the only one to take care of him, even after he woke up.

Because he knew. He knew this time would be harder. Which Shiro is as grateful for as he is miserable.

Miserable for Keith, that is.

As Shiro slumps in his bed, feeling the weight of the entire universe on his shoulders now more than ever, Keith’s haggard face stares back at him. A ghastly shadow of what it once was, that bright-eyed teenager who had everything great once lined up for his fresh canvas of adult life, promptly destroyed the second Takashi Shirogane couldn’t be there for him.

Turning his head down to stare at his hands, hot tears pricking the corners of his eyes, Shiro hates himself more than ever. He hates that he’s stolen those moments from Keith that he’s always deserved. He hates his past self for ever getting back in touch with Keith after leaving foster care.

He should have just left him alone. He should have just left him alone, to carve his own path out. At least then, they probably wouldn’t even be here.

And yet, he can’t help but feel that no matter what he did, they probably would. That the universe, that fate, is funny and simultaneously awful like that. Because either way, he would have inspired Keith to go to the Garrison, because by the time Keith called he had already applied in his own attempt to find Shiro again.

That he wasn’t sure which sector he’d been assigned in, and by complete sheer luck, had stumbled over his name in the registry several states away at the exact same time a woman from social services called and said some crazy guy was leaving a mountain of messages on her phone about him.

The intricate strings of fate make Shiro’s still jumbled up head spin.

Alright, so he would have to go back before he inspired Keith about anything, maybe not met him then at all, in that crowded old group home with four bunk beds jammed into one room together, with Keith happily swinging over the edge to wake him up every morning.

But if they hadn’t met later in foster care, odds are that they would have met sooner, because Shiro found out that they’d been in several of the same cities beforehand, somehow. Circled around each other, pulled into fate’s bitches’ orbit, before they crashed straight into it.

For all Shiro knows, even if they still had their parents, their parents would have been friends, or they would have met during soccer practice, or worked together at Keith’s cousin’s pizza shop, or some stupid shit—

So now, Shiro stares at his hands, and quietly wishes he never existed in the first place.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Keith says, breaking the silence.

“No, you don’t,” Shiro whispers pitifully, picking several fibers from his blanket.

“Maybe not exactly,” Keith admits with a sigh, sinking to his knees at the side of his bed so Shiro’s forced to see his pretty, dark eyes staring up at him in concern, “but I know you enough to tell you it’s not true. Whatever you’re thinking, it isn’t true.”

Shiro manages a weak laugh, gives a cock-eyed grin. “I’m thinking that you’re beautiful,” he lies.

“You’re picking a bad time to tell me this,” Keith jokes to ease the tension, resting a hand on his thigh. “To think, all this time you couldn’t bear to tell me I was ugly, even when you were fuck...”

He trails off, seeming to sense that the atmosphere isn’t right for mentioning that. It must be the way Shiro tenses underneath the touch of his hand, because the hell in his head is fresh and new and horrible like it never got any better. Like Keith’s hands never touched him in the first place.

Which is going to be awful for their sex life again, after they’d both worked hard through his triggers and fears, after Keith had been so understanding and gentle and eased him back into it—

Keith moves off him, even though Shiro would love for those fingers to travel over his skin, and take that pain away.

Yeah, back to that whole ‘never being born’ thing.

“Alright, you got me, I can’t lie to you when you’re looking at me like that.” Shiro slumps back against the wall, long hair hanging in greasy strings over his eyes. He’s not sure he’ll ever really get used to it, but he hasn’t had the energy to cut it yet, nor to even wash it. “I’m always thinking you’re beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but that wasn’t it. I was just thinking…”

He still can’t bring himself to say it. Despite how much he wishes it were true, he knows that it would hurt Keith.

“I was just thinking...that I’m sorry.”

That’s completely true as well. There aren’t enough apologies left in the universe that he can ever give to make how many times he’s left Keith all alone, scared and not knowing what happened to him, or thinking that he was going to die or was dead, some semblance of okay. Even sorry seems like a shitty thing to say, but it’s all he can think of anymore to try and set things right.

“I’m sorry that I keep doing this to you.”

Keith’s brows knit together, expression falling into something so sorrowful Shiro can feel the ache of it himself, within his own heart. Shiro hates that expression on him. Hates how it crinkles his forehead into lines of worry, how his lips thin and he gets that bump signaling his adam’s apple getting stuck in his throat.

“Don’t,” Keith says, his voice small and wavering, but firm, “Don’t ever tell me that again. This isn’t your fault. This was never your fault, and none of what has happened to you—to _us_ —was something you could have ever controlled. Do you understand me?”

His eyes are piercing into Shiro’s soul, into his heart. He’s falling in love all over again. He’s always falling in love when he sees Keith like this, genuine and intense and baring himself. For his eyes, and his eyes only.

“I want a dog,” Shiro blurts, and the surprise, the absolute confusion that appears on Keith’s face, makes him laugh.

“What—”

“I want a dog, Keith. I want a corgi, a corgi that I let you name.” He sucks in another breath. “I want an apartment, that’s got shitty carpet and maybe it’s too small for two grown men and a corgi, but it’s all our own. I want to work at a job every day that barely covers the outrageous rent we have to pay for it anyway, open that annoying creaking door that we can’t ever seem to fix, and see your pretty face the second I get home.”

“Shiro…” Keith says, softly, and Shiro nudges him with his foot. Keith leans into it, keeping his hands down because he knows they’ll have to work back up to sudden movements like that, and that only makes the tears in his eyes more apparent.

“And you’ll be moody about something someone did at work. Call them a bitch or something, get that cute pouty face, the one that—yeah, that—” He ignores Keith’s faint protests that he doesn’t have any trademark faces. “—so I’ll pick you up, try and kiss it better. I’ll want to take you back to the bed we share, but you’ll get impatient, so we’ll do it on the counter.”

“...It’s fine, I’d keep lube in the kitchen cabinets,” Keith admits with a shrug, looking called out as he catches onto the imaginary, ideal world they’re immersing themselves in.

“Smart. I can always count on you to be prepared.” Shiro grins, pausing for dramatic effect before he says, “The next day, after I wake up and kiss you while you’re snoring, it’ll be my day off. And I want to go to that big jewelry store we used to pass on the way back to Ms. Joanne’s home, you know, the one on Fifth Ave?”

Slowly, still unsure where this is going, Keith nods. “Yeah. With the foggy glass windows we used to write curse words in.” He smiles. “Remember that time we wrote, ‘get fucked good here’ with a giant dick, and got community service because we didn’t notice the cop behind us? I still cringe when I think about how we made Mrs. Smith cry.”

This time, Shiro’s laugh is more genuine. Forcing its way up his throat, mixing with the tears that are beginning to roll freely down his cheeks. “How could I forget?” he croaks, “But I want to go back there. Hopefully, they won’t recognize us.” Keith laughs, but Shiro can tell by the way his fingers dig into the sheets, that he wants to touch him.

“And I know you’re going to hate this, and get all embarrassed, but I want to buy you a ring. Throw in some extra for Mrs. Smith, as a peace offering.”

Predictably, Keith flushes deeply red and hides his face into the mattress, groaning, “Shiro, god, come on—”

“I’m going to do it, Keith. I’m going to do it, and I don’t care how much you fight me when I bring it home, get on one knee, and you yell at me for spending all my savings on it.”

“I wouldn’t do that, you idiot,” Keith says in a muffled voice into the sheets. There’s a pause, and Shiro stares at him, taken aback.

He lifts his head. Cheeks still red, glancing away. “I’d...I’d say yes first,” he sighs, “ _Then_ I’d tell you to take it back, because seriously? We’re gonna get evicted from our love nest. And we can’t be bad dads to Goldy this time.”

It takes Shiro a second to realize what he’s talking about, headache pounding, tears choking his words almost indistinguishably now.

“The goldfish we won at the fair…”

“Yeah,” Keith frowns, “I always felt bad that we didn’t put it in fresh water fast enough, so the corgi—”

Shiro wraps his flesh hand around Keith’s wrist, signalling that it’s okay for him to sit on the bed as he tugs him up. Keith lets him come towards him first, and when Shiro crashes into his arms, they fall apart.

Just as they always do. Comforting and supportive, just as they always are when they lend a shoulder for each other to cry on.

“I hate being fate’s bitch,” Shiro cries into his hair, and he thinks Keith probably thinks that’s weird, probably will ignore it as emotional nonsense, but he replies somberly, hollowly, “Me, too.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro isn’t aware of the fifth time, at first.

Currently, he’s in Black on Kral Zera, at the ready for when Lotor gives the signal for backup, should he need it if things go wrong. She’s sending him strange, excited purrs, like the kind she makes much like a happy pet whenever he or Keith visit her.

But he hasn’t seen Keith, physically, in about a month. Things have been hard, with him off at the Blade, especially during this tumultuous emotional time for him. Especially with the close call of Keith almost sacrificing himself, which he’s forever grateful for Lotor rescuing him from, no matter what the cost might turn out to be by working with him this closely.

Being back in Black is hard enough after everything that’s happened to him, but being back and trying to keep his wits about him as a leader again is—

Well, to say the least, he’s losing his grip. He’s not sure who he even is, some days, when he wakes up. There will be that moment he opens his eyes, expecting the glare of the sun, only to jolt up and remember he’s stuck in this nightmare.

These sinking feelings that creep in and stick to him that he can’t shake, have been causing bizarre things to happen. He’s been exploding a lot more at the team, the headaches and weird splotches of blackouts phasing in more than ever, and it’s terrifying. Sometimes, he’ll be walking down the hall, and suddenly, he’s on the training deck floor on his knees, sweating, shaking, not knowing how he got there. Not knowing what happened in between that lost time.

Which—which is happening at other times now, more important times like forming Voltron. Lance had noticed that one, reached out to him about it, but he can’t bring himself to do anything besides act like everything is still okay.

He wants to talk to Keith about it, but he knows that their duties take precedence first. And for once—for once Shiro wants to do things on his own, without Keith always right there to pick up the pieces for him. He wants to feel what it’s like, to be the one on the other end of their relationship. To be the one who has to deal with Keith’s absence, unsure what may happen to him or when he’ll ever be able to hold him in his arms again, if ever.  

This is his cosmic punishment, he thinks, to bear this weight alone after dragging Keith into perpetual Hell with him. He has to. Until he finds an easier way, or something worse starts happening—this is his burden to carry.

Even though...even though Keith would probably tell him how that’s bullshit, how that’s just an excuse to keep torturing himself when he isn’t alone. When he doesn’t have to be alone, because there are plenty of other people around him that care about him. People that aren’t just Keith.

_“How many times are you going to save me before this is over?”_

_“As many times as it takes.”_

Keith’s voice echoes, a soft murmur, in his head. Keith refuses to give up on him, and Shiro frowns, thinking about how giving up on himself seems incredibly rude, a direct disrespect of what Keith has completely dedicated his life to do.

Then it clicks. Why Black is purring, why fate is always shoving them together over and over and over again.

As Shiro jerks Black back at the explosions that suddenly go off around everyone, he can’t help but sigh, knowing in his gut that Keith probably has something to do with it.

It startles him into thinking that maybe—

Maybe there’s still something he can do to help himself, too.

 

* * *

 

+1

From within the astral plane, where Shiro once fought Zarkon and won Black over, Shiro sits with his knees pulled up to his chest. Curled into a ball, watching the shifting, transparent purple landscape with narrowed eyes and a heavy heart.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. He doesn’t know why no one has come looking for him yet, why he’s being forced to wander this endless Hell, where nothing ever happens and he can’t ever figure out how to leave.

He can’t do this by himself. He’s tried everything. Tried walking in endless directions which only lead to more endless directions, tried knocking himself out, tried screaming into the void, would have tried killing himself just to see what would happen, but there was nothing in this godforsaken landscape to even do that. Plus, he can’t help but believe Zarkon’s words, how if you die in this plane of existence, you die for good.

Which is, and always has been, a creeping terror in the back of his mind.

Most people would have gone insane by now. But Shiro—he knows how to take crazy situations like this in stride. He’s been through worse, he tells himself. At least no one’s around to torture him, to drug or force him to do things he’s never, ever wanted to do.

So, he ritually flips off the strange, black circle that constantly hangs above him, and spends the holes of time coming up with theories. Of ways he may be able to get out of here.

He never gets hungry or has the usual bodily urges, like sleep or relieving himself, which is something that’s perplexed him from the second he first dropped down here, shaking and confused. He, himself, is as transparent and lucid as a fever dream. While he can see his body, he can’t touch his own skin, his fingers slipping through it instead.

The main theory he has is that his physical body must be in another place, exactly how it was the other time Black brought him here. That this must be some manifestation of his consciousness, an unwilling astral projection, possibly separated from his body. That his body maybe is still being used, or he’s trapped somewhere, or something insane like that because fickle bitch fate hates his fucking guts.

He knows too now, because he still has some sort of quintessence connecting him to Voltron, to Black here, that Keith had temporarily been piloting her. That first time he heard his soothing, disembodied voice break through the warped silence, he’d cried. Temporal, invisible, dry tears that didn’t exist.

But inwardly, Shiro felt his soul crumble. He tried to scream, to yell out that he was right there, but Keith didn’t hear him.

_“I know you wanted this for me, Shiro, but I’m not you. I can’t lead them like you.”_

Shiro cried, from frustration, from fear, from relief that they’d made it during their fight against Zarkon. That Keith made it. He’d watched with curiosity as his environment started glowing brighter, shaking along with his emotions.

And he just knew what to do, somehow.

It was his turn to encourage Keith, encourage his weird new energy here to urge Black to choose him. Afterwards, he hated himself more than ever despite the fact he always intended to have Keith be his successor, because he heard that small, sad, scared, _“Please, no,”_ first before it all went quiet again.

There wasn’t much after that. More static, a lot of leftover energy, of Black trying to communicate with him, maybe.

Now though, Shiro isn’t sure what’s happening anymore. Something fishy is going on. Because he swore, he heard his own voice returning, speaking to Black. His heart had seized, and he’d grown angry, an electric anger that warped his environment in rippling waves, pushing whoever this imposter was out.

He doesn’t think he won, though. He’d let up on his position when suddenly Keith wasn't there to pilot and this new guy begged for Black to let him help the team, who were in some kind of danger. A danger he could feel pulsing in his veins, causing his arm to act up and start activating, glowing.

He regrets it, but it had to be done. Whatever's going on out there still, is bigger than he could probably ever imagine. He doesn't even know if Zarkon’s truly defeated, if Keith is even safe anymore—

He draws in a deep, fake breath. _Patience yields focus_ , he can almost imagine Keith reminding him.

It's hard, though, to take his own words to heart anymore, because Shiro can still feel them all, still hear them sometimes, forming Voltron. Without Keith. Without him.

And you can’t form Voltron without the Black lion.

Which he’s currently mulling over, because he just found out some nice, new information.

It started when he heard voices. Voices, distant but loud, calling his name. He’d perked up from his position on the ground, where he’d been trying to see if he could get his arm to activate again if he thought about it hard enough.

Then there they were. Bodies, flitting into space in bright, beaming lights. The team somehow showed up by forming Voltron this time, suddenly visible around him, but Shiro still didn’t see Keith. For some reason, Allura was there in Blue’s spot, and Lance was in Red, and since he has a special connection with his right hand man he’d tried to reach out—

He didn’t quite make it. Lance turned to him, but his voice was warbled and came in glitchy tones, similar to something of an electronic on the brink of dying.

There wasn’t enough time, or something. Not enough energy, not enough luck, because if there’s anything Shiro’s sorely lacking in his life—it’s probably that.

Then as soon as it started, they were gone again.

It gives him some comfort, though, to know there is at least one way to communicate. A way which he can’t control at all, but he knows Lance is smart. It might even be better that he was there instead of Keith.He’s observant in a way separate from the emotion that connects them, that distorts their own priorities at times when they should be thinking of the team, or the universe, but they can’t look past their own heartstrings enough to remember why they should care.

The sixth time hasn’t come, because Keith doesn’t know about it yet.

But when he figures it out, Shiro is confident of one thing. He doesn’t know how or why or when, but—

Keith will be there. He has to.

...Doesn’t he?

Shiro watches the shimmering landscape, watches the dark ball in the sky with glassy eyes and that sinking feeling in his chest.

He whispers shakily to the air, “Silver and gold,” and hugs his knees tighter, because there’s nothing else he can do but wait.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] This is sort of an adorable confusion on Keith’s part. He wrote Shiro’s name as ‘白金’ (hakkin). Keith writes his name ‘黄金’ (kogane), but Shiro actually writes his as ‘銀’ (shirogane).
> 
>  
> 
> When split, ki (yellow 黄) + kane (metal 金), seems to follow a sensible meaning of just “gold”. While one would then think the separate characters shiro (white 白) + kane (metal 金) would be what was used in Shiro’s name to make “silver”, because of the Chinese adaptation, it aligns with meaning “platinum” instead, and is pronounced “hakkin” when placed together. Hence, the kanji used for silver, read as ‘shirogane’ in some instances, was created as a compound of those two characters (銀) for distinction. Which means that the way Shiro writes it, it doesn’t share the matching character for metal found in kogane (黄金), but rather, has absorbed it as a radical. 
> 
>  
> 
> Understandably, Keith confused the writing as ‘白金’ instead of just using ‘銀’, since he didn’t know more complex characters and assumed it would still be used and read the same, much like his own name. 
> 
>  
> 
> If their names were written together as this title shows, “gold and silver” would be 金銀 and read as “kingin” which is also cute because it rhymes. I like the symbolism this holds, as it’s sort of like Keith’s role is be a part of Shiro, to be “always at his side, supporting him” just as his character does as a radical...
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Whether you believe the current Shiro’s a clone, or his mind is stuck in the astral plane, etc, what have you...we all have to admit, after season 5, that something is going on with him there. So don’t kill me I swear I cried too knowing that this wasn’t going to end happily. Please season 6, I’m begging you, give Shiro a happy ending for once!! Keith save him, at least one last time!!!


End file.
